The Dead Zone

Not that kind of Dead.

A friend of mine used to refer to the week between Christmas and New Year's as "the dead zone,"  the time when one set of festivities is over and the next one has not yet begun.  My friend used to throw a party during the dead zone, giving us all something to do besides wait for the ball to drop later in the week. 

But I'm older now, and I don't mind a little quiet time.  I've got my calendar and planner organized for the coming year, the Chrismas decorations are put away, and my jewelry work area (which was taken apart to make way for cookie baking) is back in the corner of the living room.

I've been spending time listening to music, or to the wind, or to the calls of the crows outside.  I've been drawing, and thinking about new jewelry designs.  I've been getting in bed early with the first of the Palliser novels.

It's been lovely.

Words of Wisdom, Christmas Edition: Charles Dickens

"This boy is Ignorance.  This girl is Want.  Beware of them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased.  Deny it!... And bide the end."

 A Christmas Carol

Merry Christmas, Gentle Readers!  May Ignorance and Want be kept from your door today and always.  May you instead, find peace, prosperity and good company in the new year.

Words of Wisdom: Louisa May Alcott

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It takes so little to make a child happy that it is a pity, in a world full of sunshine and pleasant things, that there should be any wistful faces, empty hands, or lonely little hearts.

Little Men, 1871

She Is Too Fond of Books

Can you guess who I am?

Last night I dressed up as an Aunt of Literature to give out candy at my friend's house.  Even with the book as a prop, the only people who knew I was Louisa May Alcott were women over the age of forty.  The costume itself was a smart choice, though.  All those petticoats and layers (and the fur lined coat I borrowed from my friend as a finishing touch) kept me toasty warm.

Next year, maybe I should dress as the girl who wrote the Twilight series.  Or I could go as that Snooki person.  She wrote a book -- I saw it at Barnes & Noble the other day. 

Somehow, the idea that girls are reading Confessions of a Guidette instead of Little Women scares me more than all those creepy clowns and zombies I saw last night.

What I'm Reading: A New Louisa May Alcott Biography

In a shocking turn of events, I am reading a biography about a spinster.

Louisa May Alcott has been one of my favorite authors since I read Little Women in third grade. Alcott was actually a very interesting person who lived in a very interesting time and place. She had a crazy upbringing filled with deprivation and hardship among the Transcendentalists, yet she grew up to be a prolific and successful writer. She wrote "blood and thunder tales" -- pulp fiction -- in addition to more "proper" stories for children and adults alike.

In Louisa May Alcott: The Woman Behind Little Women, Harriet Reisen shows us the people and events that shaped Alcott as a person and as a writer. Reisen shows how Alcott's writings were based on her life, and we learn about the real people and experiences behind the tales.

I'm really enjoying it, but then, I love all things Alcott. Which is saying a lot, considering the fact that after 40 years I'm still pissed because she married Laurie off to that drip Amy.

Crazy Talk

One of the benefits having time on my hands is that I get to do a lot of thinking. That is also one of the drawbacks. Lately what I've been thinking about is how people are different, and wondering why certain people get to decide what is and is not normal or desirable.

I've found myself quite often over the past few years surrounded by people who are different from me. Not better, not worse, just different. At least that was my opinion. The other people seemed to think something was wrong with me because I was different from them. One person in particular even stated more than once that what made me different made me mentally ill. Those weren't fun conversations.

Unfortunately, this particular person was in a postion to set a standard for the group and thus I became known as a problem. Some of my problem behavior included kindness to others and a belief that I should be able to use the restroom at will. That is some craziness right there, isn't it? Imagine, thinking that kindness is a positive trait when clearly it gets in the way of progress. Or thinking that a middle-aged woman should be able to handle the scheduling of her own bathroom functions. Madness!

Here's another crazy thing about me. I have a simple rule that helps with decision-making in almost all situations. It goes like this: People first, principles second, money or material things third. Yes, I know. Mental institutions are undoubtedly filled with people who keep that same bizarre rule in mind. No wonder the group I was connected with despaired of me.

And so I find myself, quietly sitting in my home, happy to be the madwoman in the attic. Because as everyone knows, the madwomen in Victorian novels were rarely actually crazy. Generally they were victims of the society of which they were a part.

Seriously. Have you ever, in the history of literature, come across a more self-centered jerk than Mr. Rochester in Jane Eyre? The dude took up with an innocent young girl while he kept his wife locked in the attic, but only after accusing the young girl of being a witch because he fell off a horse and sprained his ankle. I'd agree to the "madwoman" label to get away from a guy like that. Wouldn't you?

Words of Wisdom: Henry David Thoreau

Image: Costumes.org

The greater part of what my neighbors call good I believe in my soul to be bad, and if I repent of anything it is very likely to be my good behavior.